One Step at a Time
by WildYennifer
Summary: Emotional aftermath of torture in 4x21. "When there's so much hatred and rage, there's really no room left for love. Damon understands, he always does, and offers me nothing but support and tenderness and care. ...And he won't touch me."


Beta'd by **CreepingMuse** even though she's got things to do. Thank you.

Written for **Andy** (whenpeopleseegood) as an angsty birthday present.

* * *

I'm not okay. I'm nowhere near fine.

I'm not a human girl who couldn't admit what she wants. I'm not a vampire girl who knew what she wanted but no one believed. I'm not even sure I'm a person. These days, I feel like a shell filled with nothing but energy, and everything I feel, I turn into fury.

I close my eyes, and I see my own face, only twisted with cruelty and contempt, and I – and _she_ mocks me, because I won't ever stop her. I won't ever win.

In these daydreams, I kill her every time.

When there's so much hatred and rage, there's really no room left for love. Damon understands, he always does, and offers me nothing but support and tenderness and care.

And he won't touch me.

The first few times I was willing to brush off as a coincidence. The way his fingers dropped too quickly when he wrapped the comforter around me. A year ago, he would've found a way to caress my skin in the process. The way he almost tore off his hand when he gave me bourbon, like I could burn him.

But it's been two days, and nothing has changed. All this time, Damon hasn't touched me once. He was almost clinical about tucking me in later that night, and the next night, too. He put all my stuff in a separate room so I wouldn't sleep in his bed, and I haven't found the courage to ask him why. I guess I understand.

His tender voice, that smile that he only has for me – it is all there. But I see an almost unnoticeable tint of sadness, even grief, in his eyes, and the way he winces sometimes while looking at me, and it cuts me more deeply than I want to admit.

"Time for bed?" he asks. We're watching TV (he put a TV set in the parlor for me) and drinking blood, because these days he insists that I should have a regular drinking schedule. To build up my strength, he says, and I don't understand why he has to flinch every time he says these words.

"Sure," I smile slightly and hand him the glass, wrapping my fingers around it just to see what he'll do. He takes it by the rim and sets it on the table.

"Let's go." He smiles reassuringly in return. I'm about to take his hand, but he starts to fold the comforter I left on the couch. "After you." He gestures to the stairs, and I go first, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the icy trail of fear creeping up my spine.

I love him. I want to love him, and I want him to know it. But I can't. Not now. Because if I focus on love, it won't just be love for him. It will be love for everyone. Alive and dead.

Loving means grieving. But if I want to take Katherine down, I cannot think about grief.

I walk into my new room, and Damon stays outside, as usual, letting me change into PJs. His expression is almost detached, and that icy trail grows stronger, slipping into my heart and making it skip a beat.

He waits until I slip under the covers and steps into the room to pull it up properly, looking anywhere but into my eyes.

"Night," he says quietly with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes at all and turns to leave.

I sit up and bite my lip so hard the skin breaks. Damon turns to me at the smell of blood.

"Elena?"

His eyes are warm and tender and full of concern, but his stance is tense, wary. He looks at me like I'm a dangerous animal, ready to pounce. He sits on the bed next to me, never quite meeting my eye.

"What's wrong?" I ask, and he does a pretty bad job at feigning confusion. I reach out to touch his cheek, and he pulls away slightly – enough for me to notice.

God, is it possible I've hurt him that much?

"Why?" I drop my hand that never reached his face and put it on top of his. He shivers slightly, and I shiver, too, following his lead.

"Elena, I can't." Pain is evident on his face, and I hate it.

"Why not? Is it because of the sire bond?" _You know what else blew? Being sired to you. Going every day believing that I was in love with you. I remember every horrible moment of it. You're nothing to me, Damon. I told you I loved you because I was sired to you. And now that I'm not, I know that none of it was real._ "Oh my God, you know I didn't mean any of it, right? Damon, I just- I wanted to hurt you and I knew nothing would hurt you more. I'm sorry."

"You can't know if you meant it or not now that you're sired again, but that's not it." His voice is quiet and defeated, and I grasp his hand tighter, offering the only comfort I can. "I just don't get how you can even look at me right now."

Now it's my turn to be confused. "Why not? I-" I almost say I love you, but now is not a good time for this.

"You should be disgusted with me. You should hate me, Elena." He winces and finally looks me in the eye. "This very hand you're holding took off your daylight ring so you could burn in the sun. Your arm was on fire, and I stood by until I thought you'd had enough. How can you forgive me for this?"

"You did what you thought you had to do," I shrug, and he winces.

"That's the thing. I didn't _have_ to do it. I found a different way. But not before I almost fried you. I don't deserve to look at you right now, let alone touch you." He shakes his head, and once I try to open my mouth, he interrupts me, jerking his hand from under mine and jumping to his feet. "Don't say it's okay, because it's not fucking okay. Once I promised myself that I would never hurt you again. Of course, I failed."

He turns to leave, and I flash to block his way, holding his bigger hands with mine. They look so strong, so sure. They've given me care, tenderness, pleasure and pain.

If he keeps thinking about the pain, it'll destroy him. It'll destroy _us_.

"No, it's not okay," I agree as he nods. "What you did… it hurt me when I could feel again. But what I did to you hurt me even more."

"Elena, it's not about calling it even," he starts, but I shake my head.

"No, it's not. But I know you've already forgiven me for everything I've said and done. Please, will you forgive yourself, too?"

He starts shaking his head, and I understand. He won't. He feels too guilty, and even though I've already forgiven him, it won't change anything. Not until he trusts himself with me again.

"Let's take it one step at a time, then," I say, letting go of his hands and lying down. "Sit with me. Just sit with me until I fall asleep."

He lets out a heavy sigh, but eventually tucks me in and sits down on top of the covers.

"Sleep," he says, and I shift closer, curling up on my left side next to him.

His hand hesitantly reaches out to caress my hair, and I smile.

One day, we're going to be fine.


End file.
